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“You can call me ‘Chubs,’” I say, casting him a bright smile before ruffling his hair. “Knucklehead.”
Reinvigorated by that talk with my brother, I rush to the airport and make it just in time. The flight to Paris is quick, and when I land, a driver picks me up at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Wade will be at practice all day and told me to meet him later.
Sadly, we’re not staying in the same hotel. It sucks, but the manager set the rules to help his men avoid distractions during big games. And I totally get it. After all, now that I’m feeling better, there’s no way we’ll be keeping it PG.
Wade organised my whole stay, so I’m not surprised when I discover which hotel he booked me. A literal palace at the heart of the shopping district. Check-in is smooth, and the staff go out of their way to make me feel like a princess. And my suite—panoramic suite, to be precise—is breathtaking.
This place could fit my entire flat, and the split-level design creates an even greater sense of space. The lower level boasts a living room, a dining area, and a balcony, and the upper level features a bedroom, a bathroom, and a second balcony with a mind-blowing view of the Eiffel Tower. Everything is decorated in a deep mahogany with pops of royal purple. On the dining room table, I find a lavish bouquet of lavender roses and a note.
“Thank you for coming to support me and my team tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Meet me at the foot of the Eiffel Tower at eight. Xx Wade.”
I swoon at the note and hold it close to my heart. Leaning forward, I inhale the delicate scent of the fresh roses, and my heart warms. These are the exact same ones he got me for our first fake date. What did I do to deserve such a thoughtful man? But in the back of my mind, a darker question looms. When will the other shoe drop? Because this is my life we’re talking about, and it always does.
Trying to shake off that feeling, I unpack my clothes and hang them in the closet before indulging in a bubble bath. I could go out and explore Paris, but I would dare anyone who sees this room’s luxury tub to pass on the opportunity. I could probably fit three people in here. After my relaxing bath, I take extra care getting ready for tonight—my first real date with Wade. Tingles of anticipation shiver through my body. I’ve known Wade for almost two months now, but somehow, it feels like we’re about to meet for the first time.
I channel my inner Parisian pin-up model, choosing a marine-blue dress with white stripes on the bodice. After puckering on some scarlet lipstick to match my red pouch and Miu-Miu red-dotted wedges, I’m ready to go. The hotel concierge calls me a taxi, and fifteen minutes later, I’m standing at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I don’t see him at first because his back is turned, but when he finally looks my way, my heart seems to hold its breath.
He’s wearing a beige linen suit over a white shirt, making him look tanner than he is. His face lights up when he sees me, and I hurry towards him as fast as my heels allow. He brings me against his chest to kiss me. His lips are warm and soft, barely grazing mine, as if he wants to remember the moment.
“I missed you,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against mine.
I plant a soft peck on his lips. “Me too.”
“You look gorgeous,” he says, twirling me with one hand.
“Thanks.” I bashfully straighten my dress. “Did everything go smoothly today? Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Goodness, woman.” He rolls his eyes, but a smile finds its way to his lips. “All work and no play. You sound like my manager,” he jokes.
“I’m just excited . . . and nervous.” I lay my hands on his torso, and he clutches them.
“Everything’s good. We know what we have to do.” A spark of confidence glimmers in his eyes. “I love that you care so much,” he adds, placing another swift kiss on my lips. “But that’s not why we’re here. I thought you’d be a little more thrilled.”
I furrow my eyebrows, cocking my head to the side.
“On our first fake date, I believe you asked for dinner atop the Eiffel Tower,” he says, his eyes lifting to the pinnacle of the massive steel monument.
“No way!” I follow his gaze to the top, my jaw dropping.
He returns his attention to me, his lips slowly pulling into a grin. “Yes, way.” He offers his arm like the gentleman he is, and we stroll arm-in-arm to one foot of the structure. A man in a dark-blue suit is waiting for us in front of a flight of stairs.
“Welcome madame, monsieur. Bienvenue à la Tour Eiffel.”
“Merci,” we reply together before following him into a red elevator. Our host presses a few buttons, and we begin the journey upward. The historic buildings and busy streets of Paris shrink as we ascend, the lights streaming from the buildings becoming no more than twinkling dots. When the screen reads “125 meters,” the cabin comes to an abrupt stop. Our host guides us through a corridor and into the restaurant parlor.
The walls are entirely made of glass, highlighting the panoramic view of Paris that’s punctuated only by the beams of the iron structure. The floor is decorated with chic beige carpet floors, and the round tables look to be made of brass.
“Welcome to the Eiffel Tower restaurant,” says a hostess with a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “Please follow me.”
She leads us to our table, right in the middle of the room. A circular booth wraps around the table, and once seated, we’re directly facing the cityscape. It’s magnificent, but something’s missing. I can’t quite put my finger on it. She gives us a pair of menus and leaves us to make our choices.
“This is incredible,” I say, squeezing Wade’s hand. “Thanks for doing this.”
His steely eyes soften as he offers me a smile and picks up his menu. “My pleasure.”
“Wait.” As I look around, I realize what struck me as odd. There’s no one here. “Why is it so empty?”
He lowers his menu and tilts his head to face me. “Thought we’d enjoyed some privacy tonight.”
